Wednesday, January 18, 2006

MR. CAB DRIVER

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to drive a cab for a living. I imagine a life in traffic, surrounded by people who don’t know where the hell they’re going and driving like they don’t care if they ever get there. I’d spend hours daydreaming of all the things I could do with the time saved not showering.

Yeah – driving a cab would be sweet.

I’d probably want to get a dog to cruise around the city with me, which would mean the front seat would be off-limits for passengers, costing me a fare here and there…but the company of a wind-loving buddy riding shotgun sure would be worth it. Plus, then I could blame the godawful stench in my ride on a canine co-pilot with an unhealthy appetite for unrefrigerated leftovers. Cool. I think the best part, though, would be never having to stop to use the restroom.

Yeah – driving a cab would be the life. Make my own hours. Drive my own route. Take my own sweet time.

Growing up in the city, I think I learned everything I know about driving from cab drivers. I was often in awe watching them slice through traffic, bullying their way through intersections, and actively ignoring the majority of traffic laws. I’ve been working on a number of their moves, but have only perfected one of them – my favorite – the “Fucking Jackass.” It’s a brilliant cut-off maneuver predicated on the understanding that if the front bumper of your car strikes any part of another vehicle, the contact would appear to have been initiated by your failure to yield. It is with this in mind that a cab driver can skillfully jockey for position, darting in from any angle, daringly wedging the front of their cab into the two feet of space between your vehicle and the one in front of you. Once their vehicle is technically in FRONT of yours, you are forced to either brake or make contact.

The move is impossible to counter. You can blow your horn all you want…even speed up to close the distance – but once that cab's bumper is an inch ahead of yours, the game is over. All you can do at that point is declare your frustration with a hand gesture and windshield-muted insult: “Fucking jackass!”